by Nicole Locke
She didn’t even know his name. And she didn’t know why she or Grace were here. Too many secrets. Still, she couldn’t abandon Grace. She knew all too well what it was like to be left behind.
And how were Vernon and Helewise faring—was Gabriel keeping warm?
Squeezing the child once more, she changed her linens, adjusted clothes, cleaned their faces and hands with the cold basin water that had been brought last night along with a light fare. Little things, but luxuries to her, and the room wasn’t as freezing as she suspected it would be being so deep under the stones.
Perhaps it was the fireplace at the opposite end of the hallway. The one by the stairwell that hadn’t been lit yesterday or when she finally went to sleep, but someone had stacked it with logs in the middle of the night and it was blazing away.
It made the hallway comfortable. She carried Grace in the basket up to the kitchens. Three men whom she hadn’t met were there. One was making bread, another preparing vegetables and, off in the corner, near an open door, the third mercenary was hand-dipping chickens in a vat of steaming water.
She set the child down far enough from the industry in the kitchen, but near the fire. For now Grace remained quiet. She suspected the child stayed quiet because of neglect. That she was weakened. She hoped it was that simple, that more harm hadn’t—
Aliette refused to think those thoughts. Nothing could be resolved just now.
After meeting the cook yesterday, she knew to come here. She’d hoped for some companionship, yet no one talked in greeting or to tell her what tasks to be done. So she grabbed a water-dipped chicken, laid it within a large linen in her lap to gather stray feathers and plucked.
This was a task she knew well. The market sellers demanded their fowl to appear faultless. So she learned the subtle quick tug that released the feathers, but didn’t harm the skin.
That’s when the man who was tearing his fowl to bits stopped his task. Glancing at him, she was relieved to see his gaze was on her plucking fingers.
Ah. Opening her linen so that he could see, she pinched a few of the feathers in the wing’s crevice and tugged. She did it a few more times, more slowly than the first, until he adjusted his chicken to mimic her.
She did this for a few more turns of the bird before gathering it tight in the towel again to keep the feathers in place. The quiet made it easy to hear Grace’s restlessness. Two full meals yesterday and the child needed more food, but Aliette had never been in a position to simply ask for food before.
Just when she was certain she’d have to stop her work and return to her room where she had hidden a roll under her pillow, the mercenary who’d been slapping at the dough nudged her shoulder with a bowl of porridge that he set on a table. It was large enough for her, but it had been cooked long and the oats were mush.
‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice sounding unnaturally loud among the quiet mercenaries, and she made a startling realisation. They’d been ordered to ignore her, but she hadn’t been ordered to ignore them. They couldn’t talk to her, but there was nothing to say she couldn’t talk to them.
Laying her plucked chicken on the pile, she walked to the sink to wash her hands with the hot water available.
She had never washed so much in her life, but she had Grace, who looked like a stray speck of dust could fell her, and the blood and feathers weren’t pleasant to breathe, so they couldn’t be good for her.
But what did she know? Maybe...maybe these men did. After all, one of them anticipated Grace would need the mush and handed it to her. Who were they? All large, one of them in clothing she’d never seen before.
‘Where is the cook?’ she said, not expecting a reply. ‘I’m supposed to assist him, but I’ll have trouble assisting if he’s not here.’
Nothing.
She picked up Grace, who was thankfully dry, and set her on her lap. Pretending to address Grace, she talked to the men. ‘Well, what do we have here, Grace? Hot porridge which the nice man made for us. You should tell him thank you, when you can. Because he didn’t have to feed either of us, but he did. Just like that man who allowed us to sit and help pluck chickens. That man made us feel useful and needed. If we’re to be here, we need to be needed, don’t we—otherwise, why would they allow us to stay?’
Carefully spooning and blowing on the mush, Aliette continued to feed Grace. ‘And didn’t you sleep wonderfully? Was that because you were warm because someone lit a fire? I wonder who that could have been. That was a courteous person as well. I think I’ll thank that person, too. It helped us sleep so much better.’
And on and on she talked to Grace until she was fed, alert...almost content. Far too quiet, but maybe no one talked to her as she talked to her now. Aliette had had a brother once, whom she thought of fondly when she could bear the memory. He had been kind, hadn’t he? Maybe she learned her ease of talking with Grace from her brother.
Or maybe it was with Gabriel she began to realise children needed more than food and shelter. Both she and Helewise had talked to him long into that first night. It soothed him and had done something for her as well. A wish that someone had talked to her on those first long nights alone. Gabriel...she missed him, feared for him. Helewise and Vernon would comfort, but couldn’t provide for him. Were they starving?
She shoved away the bowl of porridge and returned an awake Grace to her basket, which wouldn’t hold her for long. If Grace gained her strength, she’d be pulling herself up, crawling, walking, and there was no place in this kitchen that would be safe for her.
Perhaps she could request a corner to be cleared and a fence of sorts to be erected. She’d seen those before and they penned the children to a safe area. She snatched another chicken to pluck. Was she truly thinking she’d be here that long?
The feathers flew. This one, too, had been dunked in hot water to release the feathers. The pile had grown since she fed Grace. How much food did they need? One, two fowls per man? Too much food!
And yet, here she was fed, clothed, sheltered as if she’d lived in this luxury all her life. None of it felt strange to her.
Maybe it was the quietness of the kitchen or the ease she was able to talk to Grace. Certainly, nothing about this situation should feel natural. Surrounded by hired swords who patrolled and killed. Kidnapped, stuck in this fortress with no means to contact Gabriel. Yet, here she was methodically plucking feathers alongside mercenaries.
They didn’t feel threatening, even though their silence confirmed their loyalty to her captor. Thus, they, like their captor, couldn’t be trusted.
But maybe in time, with familiarity, she could persuade the man who saved her arm yesterday, or this man who gave her porridge. Maybe she could plead with them to send a message to Gabriel. She knew she’d receive no such leniency from her kidnapper, no matter how fiercely he guarded Grace against her, no matter how longingly as he looked at the child. She wouldn’t risk telling Darkness of her own family. He could take—
A hand on her shoulder and she started. Everyone, but the man who’d plucked chickens, was gone. His hands were now clean, his expression tentative. Voices were coming down the hallway. It was the sound of the cook she’d met yesterday.
How long had she been lost in her thoughts? The man took the plucked chicken from her lap, laid it with the others and helped her up. Did she look as unsteady as she felt? She’d barely be able to pick up—
Grace! No basket, no child. ‘Where is she?’
He pointed to the door. She washed her hands and followed him out to the courtyard. It was a sunny day despite the cold. Several men were training, most were watching. One was holding Grace. The kind one who had saved her arm, who was too handsome for his own good. He was bouncing her about while another man talked to him heatedly, as if advising him on his foolish deeds. But whatever was said in such seriousness, the kind man turned his back and laughed again, his face going into the crook of G
race’s neck to make the most ridiculous sounds.
The child didn’t say a word. The mercenary next to the one holding Grace, however, did. And though she hadn’t stepped fully into the courtyard, she heard it.
He was cursing at the other mercenary and when he saw her, he announced something in a foreign language and marched away. The whole courtyard of men turned to her.
Head held high, she strode towards the laughing man and lifted her arms to take Grace who was supposed to be hers. He didn’t dispute her claim and the knot of uncertainty in her stomach eased. Did she worry over this child already? What was to be done when she escaped?
Stay occupied, keep moving forward, that was the only solution for these thoughts. Aliette knew she’d have to remind herself often in the coming days. Prepared to change Grace, Aliette patted her bottom, it was...dry. Which was an impossibility. ‘You changed her.’
The man simply raised his brow.
‘This is ridiculous.’ She had had enough. ‘Whatever that man said to you is just ridiculous. He can’t expect me to be here and not talk to anyone. What if there’s a fire? Will no one call out to warn me?’
‘If such an event should occur, a general cry of alarm would be raised so that all would be expected to escape,’ said a voice directly behind her.
An all-too-even voice that was so richly textured that she shivered.
Holding Grace firmly to her chest, Aliette turned.
‘And I can and do expect much of you, thief,’ Darkness finished.
Chapter Twelve
Even with the sun beaming this man wasn’t tangible to her. Among men who were giants among men, who no doubt killed and if possible, something worse, this elegant man was something other to her. Intimidating. Absorbing in a way that fascinated her.
Everything that was natural in the kitchen wasn’t here at all, because her reaction to this man before her wasn’t ordinary.
Once she was older and more sensible to avoid men, she ignored them. It was safer that way, but also, she never needed to be close to them in any capacity. Especially not the way she’d seen the local whores or the more desperate street urchins be with them.
When that occurred, Aliette saw too much. Some received food, others coin, but Aliette could never sell her body. Not out of a sense of purity, but because she was broken. Because her parents had shattered her trust the morning she woke and they weren’t there.
No. Always, always, she thought she was broken, damaged, ruined. That whatever passion, fake or genuine, she witnessed, whatever soft affection Vernon and Helewise displayed to each other, would never be hers no matter how she longed for it. How could she trust another soul like that?
For her there was only survival.
But Darkness could not be ignored or avoided. Though he stood in a calm manner, though there was no frown upon his face, though he was merely looking at her, everything in her reacted.
Nothing felt broken in her as she took in his startling appearance. For the first time, there was a flash of something alive and whole within her. It sped up her heart and shortened her breath. Her hands prickled and grew damp and a heated weight sunk within her very core. Lower yet the longer they stared at each other.
Pure daylight above and something of his flaws should have been apparent. Something to mar the fierce beauty of him. Instead, the sun above highlighted his perfection to her. Sunlight highlighted the darkness of Darkness. She wasn’t a fool. She knew what this was. She simply hadn’t expected it. Never with anyone and certainly never with him, but she was...attracted. Enticed. Tempted.
She didn’t know if she was more irritated at herself or him. ‘This is absurd. I don’t care what you expect or don’t expect. If you—’
‘Follow me,’ he said, swiftly turning towards the staircase she knew went to his rooms above.
She stood, aware of all the eyes around her. Instead of being intimidated, she looked at the men. Truly looked at them. Yes, they were large and no doubt dangerous, but none of them looked at her with hatred or evil intent. Some looked...well, most had no expression at all. An expression she was sure was convenient when it came to battle. Some, however, were shocked and the one who had been holding Grace was overtly amused.
‘You all think this ridiculous, don’t you?’ she said. ‘How am I expected to work or perform any task if no one speaks?’
No answer, but the amused one’s expression changed to warning.
All right, she’d find no friends here, so she’d pursue the man who made such absurd demands if only to have a proper argument. She pivoted in the direction of the basket, only to slam into an extremely unmovable body.
Not even the cushioning of Grace between them softened the fact that his hands grasped her arms. That his rigid stance forced one of his legs between hers.
He stood as if bracing himself, bracing her for the fall she was supposed to have, but her body had no intention of doing it. In fact, oddly, she leaned into his weight, which pressed the whole of Grace into his chest, but also gave her other touching points. Her elbow, a stray lock of her hair caught on his shoulder.
Nothing, he said nothing. She was incapable of drawing back. The scent of him, the heat of his hands. She’d never been held this securely before in her life. A child braced between them and they shared the barest of connections. But it was enough to withstand the harshest of winters, the bitterest of life’s heartache.
Just his hands holding her steady and she felt—
‘Bring the basket,’ he said low, not breaking his gaze with her.
A blur of movement out of the corner of her eye, a mercenary picking up a basket, while her captor deliberately extracted Grace from her arms to wrap her in his.
And her heart. Her heart that hadn’t been working properly around this man since he guarded Grace against her the first time stopped.
Because his gently cradling Grace did something to it, to her. This wasn’t like before when he had held her swaddled, both covered in mud and blood. Both threatening against her because she was forced here, because they were unknown.
But a day had passed since then. She knew Grace better and now she knew something of her captor, the mercenaries who surrounded him, this fortress.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough. A sliver of difference that somehow was enough space for other emotions to tumble through. Like the traitorous heat that acknowledged him as a man and then acknowledged that she desired him. Like this image of Darkness enfolding a child into his arms. She hadn’t been wrong yesterday when he guarded the child. Grace was precious to him; he truly cared for her.
Such an infinitesimal difference between one day and another, but enough. Assaulted by her observations, her abandoned heart wouldn’t work like it had before and she didn’t know if she wanted it to. For why would she want to go back to a time when she thought all infants were abandoned to freeze to death or learn to survive? Why would she want to forget how he looked at her on the landing as if she wasn’t broken?
Yet life had taught her not to trust any of this. It was a lesson she must remember until she could escape or was left behind.
* * *
Reynold didn’t bother to see if the thief would follow this time, he simply took the child and expected it. Where else would she go?
He had told her she must remain with Grace. Told her what would happen if she didn’t. He told her and the very next morning his daughter was being passed around from one mercenary to another with no thief in sight.
The fear, the anger. The possessive rage that struck through him. He wanted to rip their throats. He didn’t want his own hands to touch her, but these men were paid to kill and did it well. He didn’t want their murderous calloused hands on a child who had already suffered so much.
When he saw the thief wasn’t near his daughter, his anger grew cold. He had warned her that she must be the mother. A true mother wo
uldn’t abandon a child, not ever, and, unless she was dead, not to these men.
These men... The closer he came to the courtyard, the more he heard. Their gentle singsong words, Louve blurting sounds right in her neck. Instead of being terrified, Grace’s eyes widened in delight. No sounds, no laughter, or giggles or happy cooing. But she liked it.
So he’d stayed in the shadows of the courtyard to observe. Because, unlike him, these men knew how to hold a child. Baldr, who he knew had siblings, but no gentleness, even changed her soiled linen. And all the while, Reynold watched them be careful, gentle...at ease with her in a way he hadn’t been, but wanted to be.
His men knew he was there, but no one engaged him. They never did and he preferred that, but this time around, he expected the child to be placed back in the basket and for them to continue with their training. Instead, they continued to hold her.
And that’s when the thief arrived. Took Grace in her arms and made her incendiary mutinous comments.
That wouldn’t do. It was one concern to watch his men shirk their duties and hold a child, it was another for a homeless street wench to question his rule in his own domain. Because in that moment, he wasn’t sure if his men who sang, talked and held a child remembered who was in charge.
The thief certainly didn’t when she stormed through the courtyard and held out her arms for Grace. One day she’d been here and she expected Louve to hand Grace over. Yesterday, she had sat on his bench as if this was her house. All with a certainty that astounded and frustrated him.
Grace was one change, having the thief as a mother was another. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, tolerate any other differences in his life. He would remain in control here as in all aspects of the game until he won.
It was that feeling of loss of control that prompted him to demand she follow him. Instead, she stumbled against him. His first instinct was to steady her, to steady himself. But the longer he held her the more unbalanced he became.